


Forgotten

by MaryPSue



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Mirrormask (2005)
Genre: Complete, Crossover, Early Work, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 17,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are complicated enough without a Goblin King in the mix. Sarah's boyfriend is about to find out just how complicated they can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sarah stood outside the door, slowly gathering her courage for what she was about to do.

Right, that seemed about long enough. Sarah reached out, and gently pushed the door. It remained closed, in that smug way that doors do. Sarah gripped the handle and twisted, shoved the door open before her nerve failed her.

It was somewhat anticlimactic. There was nothing of interest behind the door. The crib had long ago been taken to the attic, the striped romper suit with the cute matching hat had been outgrown and lost to the mists of time. The room was barren and white, devoid of personality. It looked more like a movie set than a place where someone lived. Even here, where it had all begun, it was becoming harder and harder to remember.

 _Well, at least this means he ought not to ever bother me again,_ Sarah thought. And here, in this bare, benign room where it had all begun, she let herself break down and bawl.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but she gradually became aware of a light breeze ruffling her dark hair. Hardly daring to believe it, she looked up. The French window creaked quietly in the wind, as it swung lazily back and forth.

Sarah's heart jumped into her throat. It wasn't possible. A shift in the air pressure, that must have been all. A warped and ill-fitting window frame. That was all. That was all it could be.

But Sarah couldn't bring herself to believe it. Because she knew she'd heard the faint whisper that had drifted in on the wind.

" _Should you need us..."_

Sarah laughed once, a strangled, sobbing sound. "But I do need you," she whispered into open space. "Sometimes, when I start to forget..."

Bright blue eyes under a head of tousled blond hair peeked around the door at about waist height. "Sawah?" Toby asked hesitantly, in his ingratiatingly childish lisp. "Mommy found Wancewot, so you can stop wooking and come downstaiws now."

Sarah sniffled once, and brushed a tear from her eye. Great. Now she'd have puffy red eyes, and Irene would seriously wonder what Sarah'd actually been doing up in her parents' bedroom. "All right, Toby. Let's go." She stood up, shut the French window, and walked to the door without once looking back.

As they left the room, Sarah turned, and firmly shut the door.

* * *

Sarah married Jeremy in the first few drops of a rainstorm.

They'd met at a costume party. Sarah had worn a turn-of-the-century ballgown. The tight bodice and full skirts coupled with the low neckline had conspired to make her feel very uncomfortable. Her friend, however (Sarah didn't even remember the friend's name anymore), had insisted that they both go in similar costumes. So here she was, standing awkwardly on the edge of the dance floor, wearing a beautiful white gown while masked dancers flitted past her. Almost unconsciously, she'd looked through and past the crowd, finding herself searching for a face she knew she wouldn't see.

Jeremy had been with a friend as well. Jeremy had been dressed as Will Turner, and had looked bored and almost as uncomfortable as Sarah felt. His friend had been dressed as Jack Sparrow, complete with heavily smudged eyeliner. He'd tapped Sarah on the shoulder and, when she'd spun to face him, she had thought for a moment that she was looking into a mask.

"Care to dance?" he'd asked, arching his eyebrows. Sarah had looked straight into his crystal-blue eyes, and abruptly turned and grabbed Jeremy, dancing off with him.

They'd hit it off almost immediately. After two years, Jeremy had asked Sarah to marry him. She'd been only too happy to accept.

The wedding went off without a hitch. The actual ceremony took place in a park in the middle of July, when all the flowers were in full bloom. The reception was held inside a meeting hall, after many cautious glances at the sky. No one need have worried, however; the rain held up until Sarah and Jeremy ventured out of the hall to dash for the car that would take them away from the reception.

Jeremy's friend had been invited to the wedding, but left just after the cake was cut. Sarah learned that his name was Jacob. When he took his leave of them, he told Sarah, "It's nice to see that Jeremy finally found somebody he wants to spend his life with. I'm so happy for you both." Sarah looked straight into his eyes and saw two things; one, that he meant his words, and two, that his eyes were brown.

That night, as Sarah and Jeremy lay in bed together, sheltering from the fury of the storm outside, a white barn owl beat its wings furiously and futilely against their window.


	2. Chapter 2

They named their daughter Helena.

Jeremy noticed that his wife watched his daughter with an eagle's eyes, quizzed babysitters to the point of tears, and refused to let Jeremy express fanciful wishes in their daughter's presence. Since most of Jeremy's fanciful wishes wound up centring on his dream of opening a circus, Sarah eventually let him say the words "I wish" around Helena again. But she refused to joke about their daughter's place in the family. This puzzled Jeremy. His parents had occasionally threatened to sell Jeremy to the circus – in fact, that's where his infatuation had come from. Perhaps that was what Sarah was worried about. But other than that, it had been a rather effective form of preventative punishment. Sarah, however, refused to joke about selling or otherwise being rid of Helena. Jeremy supposed it might have to do with his wife's mother taking off with that performer. It had, to all accounts and purposes, hit Sarah rather hard. Jeremy felt that his suspicions were only confirmed when Sarah's stepbrother stayed at Sarah and Jeremy's house for a week, and Jeremy noticed that Sarah watched Toby almost as closely as she did Helena.

When Helena began to draw the pictures, it frightened Sarah almost out of her wits. Jeremy had to stop her from having hysterics. He could see that his daughter had talent, and yes, the pictures were a little disturbing, but he had no idea why it would frighten his wife that much.

Even still, the drawings were a little...off. Jeremy didn't like to turn his back on them. Oh, the furry monsters with their heads rolling on the ground were scary, in a childish sort of way, as were the tunnel of hands and the – well, Jeremy wasn't sure what it was, since, after all, they were the drawings of a child. It looked like a walking junk heap. But the most unnerving, the strangest and least comforting, was basically a circle. A simple circle, wobbly as a child's circles usually are. There was a hint of highlight at the top, a hint of shadow at the bottom. Very basic. And, somewhere in the depth of it, Helena had drawn a face. Two black-button eyes, a long line for a nose, and a smirk. Jeremy would like to call it a smile, but it was definitely a smirk.

The drawing was very simple, nothing frightening or disturbing or _weird_ about it. Except that Jeremy got the very distinct feeling that it was watching him. And if he took his eyes off of it for a moment, he could swear that the face had shifted position, ever so slightly.

He was almost grateful when Helena started drawing walking towers and cats with wings. In comparison to the early pictures, her later drawings almost looked normal.

Still, he didn't like to turn his back on her pictures.


	3. Chapter 3

She wasn't dancing.

That struck Jeremy as odd. Why would you come to a Halloween dance, wearing a full-skirted ballgown, if all you were going to do was sit on the sidelines and watch?

Jake nudged him, and pointed to her. "See that beauty?"

Jeremy nodded, too bored to really care.

"She's going to be mine." Jake smiled, and Jeremy didn't like the look of that smile. It was all teeth.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Jake turned to him, still smiling. "Never better." Jeremy felt his throat tighten inexplicably. _You're being silly,_ he told himself. _This is just Jacob. You've been friends with him since primary school. It's not like he's going to rape her or something. It's just a game. Even if he does seem a bit...strange._

The song, loud and raucous with heavy bass, ended, and something that sounded like a music box waltz took its place. "Who chose this crap?" Jeremy muttered.

"Oh, you just hate dancing." Jake smiled again, his eyes lighting up oddly. Was it just his eyeliner that made them look so far away? "That's it. I'll ask her to dance."

Jeremy wasn't sure why he followed Jake across the floor to where the girl stood, watching the dance. But he did. He arrived just in time to see the girl's face blanch at something Jake had said, and then, she'd grabbed Jeremy and they were part of the whirl and swirl on the dance floor.

Jeremy found that, once he stopped tripping over his own feet, it wasn't hard to waltz. Within a minute, he felt confident enough to stop looking at his feet and transfer his gaze to the girl's face.

She was looking back over her shoulder at Jake, who, when he saw them looking, waved. She shivered a little, and swivelled abruptly back to Jeremy, whose breath caught in his throat. Jesus. He hadn't noticed that she was beautiful.

She saw him staring slack-jawed, and laughed nervously. "Um, I'm Sarah," she said pointedly, obviously trying to break Jeremy's lack of concentration.

Jeremy shook his head, trying to dispel her spell, and mustered a grin from somewhere. "I'm Jeremy," he replied.

Sarah nodded and continued with the small talk. "Great song, don't you think?"

Jeremy nodded back, trying not to laugh.

"I love David Bowie." A blush rose hot and bright to her cheeks, and she looked quickly away from Jeremy, at the ceiling. "I mean, his music. I don't love David Bowie, because I've never met him and that would be silly!" She laughed, forcedly, and Jeremy laughed too, utterly charmed. He decided in that instant that he would give glam-rock another chance.

Jeremy, as you perhaps can tell, was hopelessly and utterly in love.

* * *

It had been twelve long months, only a year. Jeremy was in love and lost in confusion. Sarah had taken to him, and they were dating, had been for nearly a year. Yes, Sarah liked him back, but he seemed to have had terrible luck ever since he'd met her. His socks and keys and wallet were forever going missing, his electricity had become increasingly unpredictable, and he'd even had his identity stolen. He'd been dive-bombed by owls twice, and was still seriously wondering how it had happened. He hadn't thought there were owls in the city. Then again, he was rather clueless when it came to the animal kingdom.

Sarah, of course, hadn't noticed, even though Jeremy'd once been attacked by an owl while he was walking her to her door. In fact, she was so oblivious that Jeremy wondered if she was ignoring his bad luck on purpose.

All in all, it almost seemed as if something wanted him to keep away from Sarah. It was downright depressing. In any other circumstances, he might have proposed by now. Not to Sarah. Not until his luck changed. He was worried, given his luck, that she might turn him down. But he couldn't stand this waiting.

So he sleepwalked miserably through his day, misplacing keys and wallet and, in a coup de grace of epic proportions, his pants, agonizing over whether or not to bring a ring to his dinner with Sarah that night. Finally (this would be shortly after the pants incident), he decided he would grit his teeth and bear the bad luck if it meant having Sarah beside him for the rest of his life.

The bell above the door jingled out the first few notes of a music box waltz as Jeremy walked into the jewellery store. His feet made no noise on the carpet, and the door shut with a low hiss of hydraulics. This place was a hushed temple of wealth.

No one was behind the glass counter. Jeremy cleared his throat twice, then rang the little bell on the counter. No one answered. Jeremy gave up, and began to study the rings under the counter's glass top.

He slowly became aware that he was not alone in the jewellery store. A low guffaw, a wicked cackle, a rustle behind his head, a flicker of motion in the corner of his eye... Jeremy spun around, and the sensations ceased. He was alone again.

But not quite alone. Someone stepped out from behind one of the mirrored display cabinets scattered tastefully about the floor, despite Jeremy's certainty that there had been no one there moments before. Pressed to describe him, Jeremy wouldn't be able to. He was sort of...well, kind of...sort of... On a few counts, Jeremy was sure: he was tall, and blonde, and his eyes were icy. He was imposing and frightening – and somehow, he reminded Jeremy of the night he'd met Sarah, how his best friend had acted so strangely.

"You're shopping for a ring." There was a sneer in the stranger's voice. Jeremy found dislike welling up inside him.

"Yes," he said defensively.

The stranger shook his head disappointedly. "You've ignored my warnings, blithely continued with your courtship. I shall give you one last chance. Leave Sarah alone, or suffer the consequences."

A spark of defiance flickered into a tenuous flame. "No," Jeremy said.

The stranger cocked his head to one side. "No?" he inquired, mockingly. Something chattered in the haunted space of the jewellery store.

Jeremy stood his ground. "No. I love her, and you can't scare me off." The absurdity of the situation struck him suddenly. "Who are you, anyway? This little brother she speaks so highly of?"

The stranger laughed brightly, then abruptly stooped. "No."

"Who are you, then?" Jeremy insisted, finding his courage again.

The stranger's beguiling face darkened with anger. "Don't defy me, Jeremy."

"Who are you? Why're you so set against me? What's your deal with Sarah?" Jeremy pressed.

The stranger's eyes flashed menace. Jeremy quailed, his unfamiliar feelings of rebellion dying slowly. When the stranger spoke, it was curt and final, as though he was quite through with Jeremy and would not be persuaded otherwise. "I'm a friend."

He turned and walked to the door, then stopped and pointed back at Jeremy. "And if you propose to her tonight, I shall personally drop you headfirst into -" He checked himself, regained his perfect composure. "Trouble," he finished, then swung the door open. The little bell above it danced out its merry tune as he left the store.

"Hello?" queried a feminine voice from behind Jeremy. He turned to see a middle-aged woman wearing more jewellery than absolutely necessary and a plastic smile. "Were you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?"

"Uh – no, no thank you. I was just leaving," Jeremy mumbled.

The lady pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Well, come back soon," she admonished him.

"I might." Jeremy grinned sheepishly. He didn't want to leave without at least showing intent to purchase – he didn't think he could face this lady's wrath. "I rather like that engagement ring with the ruby, but I don't know."

The lady's eyes sparkled. "Ah, I see," she chirped understandingly. "Cold feet?"

Jeremy swallowed. "More like I want her to love it completely. I'm not stalling, just...considering."

The lady nodded. "Well, I hope it works out for you."

"I do too," Jeremy said honestly. "I do too."


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah was staring at his tangelo with a starved expression.

Jeremy held out the tangelo. "Like a bite?"

She waved it away. "No thanks."

"But you look hungry. It's no trouble, I've got more."

Sarah shook her head. "I had a bad experience with a peach and a would-be boyfriend."

"A peach?"

"Yeah. I think it was drugged or something."

Jeremy's confusion increased. "How do you drug a peach?"

Sarah shrugged. "Magic."

Jeremy turned back to his tangelo and coffee. "I can never tell if you're serious or joking when you say that."

Sarah shrugged again, an eloquent lack of answer.

Jeremy changed the subject. "How's the novel coming along?"

Sarah stole a sip of his coffee. "It's not. I haven't done any work on it in nearly a year."

"What? But you said -"

"I lied." She seemed unconcerned, even amused.

Jeremy looked to the heavens for strength. "Sarah, I can't edit a manuscript if there isn't a manuscript to edit."

Sarah grinned to herself. "I've been busy."

"Mmm." Jeremy leaned over the table to kiss her, but stopped halfway. "Hey!"

"What's the matter?"

"My tangelo! It was there a second ago, and..." Jeremy trailed off. No. She'd never believe him if he said a thorny little hand had reached up from under the table and snatched the odd-looking fruit. She'd just think it was a game, and want to play too. "And now it's gone," he finished lamely.

Sarah frowned. "That's odd. I bet you bumped it off the table." The frown disappeared as if by magic. "Forget it. Kiss me, you fool."

Jeremy leaned over and did so. Neither one of them noticed the goblin crouched below the table.


	5. Chapter 5

"Do I have to stay with Uncle Toby?"

Sarah pinched her daughter's cheek, then realised that she was doing it and stopped. "Yes. It'll only be for a week or so, honey."

Helena stuck out her tongue. "I don't like Uncle Toby. He's weird."

"No weirder than you," Sarah shot back.

"Hey you kids, cut that out," Jeremy admonished them, pulling on his jacket as he walked into the room. "Sarah, the car's warmed up, the suitcases are packed, and the only thing we're missing is you two. Get a move on."

Helena jumped off the bed, which was covered in a unicorn blanket. "Daddy, make Mom not make me go stay with Uncle Toby."

"Why don't you want to stay with your uncle?" Jeremy asked, looking to Sarah for an explanation. She grimaced.

"Because Uncle Toby's weird," she said sarcastically, and Helena turned her back on her mother.

Jeremy glanced around at his daughter's walls, plastered with childish images of unicorns and ponies, mingled with the girl's own drawings of fanged fairies, lumpy, twisted little faces, and winged cats with masks on.

"...Yeah," Jeremy answered. "Sure."

"And he never talks to me! He's always busy with his designs," Helena complained. "And there's never anything good to eat."

Sarah and Jeremy exchanged looks over their daughter's head. This last piece of information was true, considering that Toby was a twenty-eight-year-old graphic designer and, in Sarah's opinion, severely underpaid.

"Would you rather stay with my evil stepmother?" Sarah asked Helena, who nodded stubbornly.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Jeremy asked, pulling Sarah out into the hall. He lowered his voice so Helena couldn't hear, and asked his wife, "Are you sure we should leave her with Toby, after all?"

Sarah skewered him with a look. "Of course. I trust Toby completely."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he can put food on a table for himself, let alone our little girl. Besides, I think he might have influenced her drawings."

That hit home. Sarah glanced nervously back at Helena's room. "I don't think he'd put that sort of idea into her head," she rebuffed Jeremy, but she sounded uncertain.

"No, no. He wouldn't do anything intentionally," Jeremy countered, hastily backtracking. "It's not that I don't like your brother, or that I don't trust him. But I think that she might have seen some of those illustrations he did for the Grimm's Fairy Tales anthology and gotten some odd ideas."

Sarah's forehead puckered in a frown. "But who else could Helena stay with? Irene's made it quite clear that she wants no part of babysitting, and I wouldn't want to inflict her on a child anyways."

"There's my aunt," Jeremy suggested.

"But she thinks babysitting consists of plopping a child in front of the TV and force-feeding it every half-hour. Do you really want our daughter turning into a mindless television slave with no imagination?"

Jeremy had to admit that he didn't.

Sarah shook her head. "Besides, we couldn't foist her on anyone else on this short notice. I'd rather Helena stayed with Toby."

Helena tugged on Jeremy's sleeve. "Do I have to? Can't I stay here?"

Jeremy laughed nervously. "Were you listening to the whole conversation?"

Helena shrugged. "Yes. Can I stay here? The dwarf and the knight and the teddy can take care of me."

Sarah's head snapped up. Jeremy wondered what the matter was. Helena was only talking about her stuffed animals, after all.

"No, sweetheart," Jeremy told her. "You're going to stay with Uncle Toby."

Helena made a face.

"It's only for a week, while we find out about licenses and properties and tents and performers and things for a circus. And then you can tell everyone you live in a circus! Won't that be fun?" Jeremy had tried time and again to get his daughter to share his enthusiasm, but this effort was met with the same response each time – a blank stare. This time was no different. "I'll teach you to juggle," he added, slightly hopelessly. Oddly enough, this caused Helena's whole face to light up.

"Really, Daddy?"

"Yes, really!" Jeremy's brains clicked into high gear. "You can be part of my act. The Amazing Jeremy and Helena, Jugglers!" Jeremy declaimed in a false deep voice. "Astounding and impressing audience the world over! No, our names don't sound exotic enough. Let's change them!"

Helena giggled. "Okay, Daddy. I shall be Princess Hanalora!"

"Ooh, good one. And I shall be..." A name swam up from his subconscious, trailing associations in its wake. "I shall be Jare-"

"No," Sarah said flatly. "You will not use that as your stage name. And Helena, you are going to stay with Toby."

Helena pouted, but she knew better than to argue with her mother when Sarah was in this kind of mood. "Fine."


	6. Chapter 6

Standing in the hallway outside of his aunt's living room, listening to the canned laughter of a fifties sitcom and Helena's complaining, Jeremy looked back on that memory and wondered when it had gone so wrong.

Well, he knew, of course. Things had been just fine up until Sarah had collapsed backstage. But now the whole circus seemed to have better things to do, and it seemed that Jeremy's circus, his one obsession, his dream come true, had been merely a hobby for the majority of his performers. Oh, he'd known that he couldn't pay as much as a 'real' job could, but he'd thought they were in on the dream, holding on for jam tomorrow, for that day they struck gold.

Apparently not.

And Helena, too. Her profound silence to him, her lack of support, spoke more volumes than the outright betrayal of some of the other members of the troupe. Jeremy knew, with a father's mostly unerring instincts, that Helena blamed him for her mother's illness, for her own lack of permanence and friends. He knew Helena hated the circus now. He just wished she didn't.

It had all been so bright and promising, not so very long ago. It had been Helena's idea to put the performers in masks, Helena who had, in fact, made the masks. It was Helena who had persuaded Jeremy to include her in his juggling routine, a decision he'd reaped the applause for each night. It was Helena who had decorated the posters that heralded their arrival in each new town. And Sarah had been beside him all the way, lending a hand, doing all the little jobs that made the fantasy world of the circus keep running smoothly.

But ever since Helena had turned thirteen, that had changed. Sarah had begun to lament her lack of time to work on her novel, and Helena had become downright bored with the transitory nature of circus life. Now that Sarah, the woman on whom the circus turned, was laid low in the hospital, both Jeremy's happy ending and happy family were disintegrating. And, helpless, he couldn't help but blame it all on the person who had tried, for two long years, to destroy everything that Jeremy was trying to build.

No. That way madness lay. Jeremy thumped the wall with one hand, and set off down the hall. From the living room, he heard Helena's voice suddenly silenced, and the sound of an explosion from the TV. What were they watching?

Without quite knowing why, he turned right, and padded down the short hall to Helena's room. Once inside, he threw on the lights and stared, dazzled by his daughter's brilliance.

It has been said that a person's room is as revealing as any secret diary that might be hidden therein, that the four walls a person inhabits absorb enough of his or her character that they become like a second skin, something deeply personal and inviolable, intimate and secret. This is especially true of teenage girls.

Helena's walls were no longer covered in posters of unicorns and ponies or of rock stars. They had been crowded out by a hand-drawn city. But this city not only didn't exist in the real world; it couldn't. Fish flew up the main street, an eyeball perched atop a library stared at the viewer with unabashed wonder, a cathedral crumbled into black earth, and a castle glowed under a smiling sun. The city dominated the walls, but it wasn't alone. A mask, painstakingly created out of Plaster of Paris and a mosaic of mirrored tiles, hung near the ceiling, a framed doodle of Helena and her parents hung in a corner, and a serpentine sculpture threatened the mirror above the dresser. A few of Helena's early drawings also hung, framed, pinned and captured, amidst the city streets.

What Jeremy did now would have puzzled any observer. He stared into the mirror for nearly five minutes, until he had to draw away and blink like crazy. Then, he gazed up at the mask suspiciously, and slowly turned his back on it, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye, until he was facing the picture of their little family. Then he whirled, quickly and on the spot, as though trying to catch someone in the act of moving, to face the mirror again. He repeated this cycle three times before apparently becoming satisfied that the mirror was appropriately subdued, and left the room.

As he left, however, one of the framed drawings fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Jeremy turned and picked it up, and by the way the colour drained from his face, you would have thought it was something quite horrible when, in fact, it was merely a crude circle, which enclosed a face. Jeremy stared at the drawing, the simple doodle that was both lovely and unnerving, the face of an adversary who could never be completely defeated, only banished for a time.

He shook the frame, angrily whispered, "No power over her! Do you hear that? No power!" and hung the picture back up with rather more force than absolutely necessary.

As Jeremy left is daughter's room, the face in the picture flickered slightly, the evil smirk dropping a notch. It was frozen again in less than a second, but had Jeremy been looking, he would have sworn that it had winked.


	7. Chapter 7

Helena was five when she toddled into her father's study, grinning hugely. Jeremy looked up, saw her there, smiled, and turned back to the manuscript he was reading. Unfortunately, his daughter didn't take the hint.

"Daddy, want to hear a riddle?"

"Not now, sweetheart. Go tell your mother."

"But I made it up all on my very own!" Helena protested. Jeremy sighed, not unhappily, and put down the manuscript. It was rather dull anyway. A short break wouldn't hurt.

"All right. Let's hear it."

Helena puffed up her small chest, and said quickly, "What's green, hangs on the wall, and whistles?"

Jeremy grimaced. "Could it be…a tin whistle?"

Helena fixed him with an uncannily piercing stare. "Tin isn't green," she complained.

"It was when the Nome King turned the Tin Woodsman into a whistle," Jeremy countered.

"What are you talking about?"

"That's right, you haven't read the Oz books yet, have you?" Jeremy shook his head reproachfully. "Deplorable. We'll have to act quickly to remedy this situation."

Helena giggled – she loved it when her daddy used big words – and shook her head. "That's wrong. Guess again."

"Hmm…a fragglewump?" Jeremy asked thoughtfully.

"What's that?"

"An ugly old troll that eats cats."

Helena shivered happily. "Guess again."

"A mask," Jeremy guessed at random.

"Nope."

""I give up. What is it?"

Helena opened her mouth to answer, then shut it again, face falling. "I don't know."

Jeremy couldn't help but laugh. "Well, how about you go make up an answer, and then come ask me again?"

Helena shrugged, crestfallen. "Okay."

As she left the room, she turned back and looked at her dad. "The tights guy said a goblin nailed to the wall, but I don't know what noise a goblin makes."

Jeremy laughed again. "I don't think goblins whistle."

"That's what I said. But the tights guy hates it when you say he's wrong. He made a goblin whistle for me just to prove it!"

Jeremy pressed a hand to his mouth to restrain his giggles. He was constantly amazed by his daughter's seemingly bottomless imagination. "The tights guy, huh?"

Helena nodded. "I like him. Even if he does wear silly tights."

And she left the room, leaving Jeremy shaking his head in amusement. It would be nearly an hour later, while halfway through a particularly dull manuscript, that Jeremy would realize just why Helena's mention of "the tights guy" had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

* * *

Helena was about three when she started to draw on the walls.

She was scribbling away to her heart's content one sunny Tuesday when her mother rushed in, saw her masterpiece on the hall wall, and scooped her up off the floor, knocking the black crayon out of Helena's hand. Helena, predictably, began to sniffle.

"Don't draw on the walls, baby!" Sarah scolded he daughter, as she bounced Helena in a vain attempt to keep her from squalling. "C'mon, I'm going to put you in your high chair, and then I'll come back and clean off the wall."

"The White Queen isn't happy," Helena said sadly. "Her kingdom isn't finished."

Sarah shook her head as she bent over to pick up the black crayon. "Honestly, Helena, you are a handful."

As Sarah carried Helena towards the kitchen, a suspicious grating, shifting noise and what sounded like a barely-audible voice saying something like, "Fraggity whosa-whipsa! Chore mother's a fraggy!" emanated from the hall behind them.

Sarah stopped in her tracks and looked down at her daughter. "Did you hear that?"

Helena stuck her thumb in her mouth and nodded.

Sarah turned, to see a blank white wall, with no sign of scribbles anywhere along its length. "Helena," she asked her daughter, very slowly and deliberately, "what happened?"

Helena pulled her thumb from her mouth with a sucking sound not unlike a dinosaur in a tar pit. "Nice little mens cleaned the wall."

"Hmm." Sarah bit her lip. "Well, you don't want to trouble the little men. Don't draw on the walls."

Helena nodded gravely and began, again, to suck her thumb.


	8. Chapter 8

It was nearly eighteen months into Sarah and Jeremy's relationship when Sarah finally decided that no, the goblins tailing her were not going to give up and go away. Her friends had no idea why she was being watched, beyond the same guesses she'd made, and less idea of how to get rid of her little shadows, so she conceived of a plan to catch one of them in the act and make it tell her. Unfortunately, that was where the plan ended. She had no idea how to catch a goblin, other than luck. She finally decided to tempt one with a yummy treat, and then nab it. The only problem with Sarah's rather excellent plan was that she didn't know what might tempt a goblin into her clutches. In the end, it was luck, after all, that delivered Grak into her hands.

Sarah had been begging her landlord to allow pets in her apartment building for as long as she'd lived there, to no avail. As a sort of surrogate, she'd taken to feeding the stray cat that hung around the overgrown garden. It was a black and scraggly tom, with a haughty stare that reminded Sarah strongly of someone she'd once known, and a hopeful face when she brought it tuna that melted her heart to caramel sauce in mere seconds. Try as she might, Sarah hadn't been able to think of a name for him, which she took as a good thing. If she named the cat, she might feel she owned him, and that could be disastrous, what with her stodgy landlord and a roommate who was allergic to dander.

It was on a grey and disappointing Wednesday when Sarah sat in her kitchen, sipping heavily watered-down coffee and wondering what might entice one of her shadows to show its ugly face. She had the day off from the bookstore where she worked, but her flatmate, Jamie, didn't. It was the perfect day to catch a goblin. When a familiar yowl erupted from the garden, Sarah sighed heavily and stuck her head out of the window to yell at the cat, but her shout shrivelled and died in her throat when she saw the reaching fingers and long, pointed ears of a goblin.

_One of those little beasts is after my cat!_

Taking care not to make too much noise, Sarah shut the window and ran across the kitchen, out the door, and down the stairs. The door to the flat below her opened and one of the two old ladies who lived there stuck her head around the doorframe. "What on Earth?" she began, but Sarah only waved and dashed out the front door.

She spun around the corner, into the abandoned tennis court, coming knees-to-face with the cat. His ears were flat against his head, his teeth bared, the fur along his back standing straight up, and his paws were scrabbling wildly against the grass. He was getting nowhere, however, because the goblin had hold of his tail.

Because it was so grey and misty out, the goblin didn't see Sarah's shadow over him until it was too late. Once he realised that she wasn't going to let go of his ear, he sadly released the cat and asked pitifully, "Truce?" The cat took off, disappearing like a streak of black ink.

"We'll see." Sarah marched the goblin towards the front door. "It depends on how much you know."

Back in the kitchen, Sarah refilled her mug and offered coffee to the goblin, who shook his head. "Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked.

"I's partial to cat," the goblin leered.

Sarah felt ill. "No touching the cat. The cat is mine. Besides, he'll scratch your eyes out. Now. What's your name?"

"Grak. What's youse after?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What's youse after? Youse wouldn't be denyin' me a nice lunch if'n youse didn't want something."

Sarah sipped her coffee and made a face behind her mug at the goblin's stink. "Well, I want you to leave the cat alone."

Grak made a face too. But he reluctantly agreed. "Done."

"And I want to know why you guys are following me."

Grak shook his head. "Can't tell youse."

"Oh, come on. Did Jareth put you up to this?"

"Can't tell youse. His Majesty's orders."

Sarah smiled triumphantly. Grak smacked his forehead.

"'His Majesty's orders', huh? Sounds like Jareth's in this up to the tips of his pointy collar. But I wonder." She put her mug down on the table, heedless of the rings it'd leave on the wood. "Everyone knows goblins are terrible liars. Why would he swear you to secrecy, knowing that?"

Grak shrugged. "I just follows the orders, I doesn't gives them. Maybe he wants youse attention."

"Your grammar is atrocious," Sarah commented absently.

"Thank youse, miss. I tries," Grak stated proudly.

"Hmm. You know, you might be right. If he'd wanted to keep it a secret, he wouldn't have told you to keep quiet." Sarah stared at her kitchen clock. "What's his game?"

"I doesn't know," Grak answered unnecessarily.

"You know what?" Sarah said, turning back to him. "I wish you'd take me to your king. Right now." She glowered at the ceiling. "He and I need to talk."

Grak nodded, and pointed to the kitchen door. "Follow me."

Sarah was unsurprised when, instead of her hall, the door opened to reveal the Goblin City in all its glory. "Sorry I can't takes youse into the castle proper, miss," Grak apologised. "Wards 'n' such, y'know."

Sarah nodded. "Can they keep goblins out?"

"Any unwanted visitors, goblins or no," Grak replied proudly.

"Hmm. I might have to learn how to make them."

Getting into the castle itself was fairly uneventful. The guards stopped them briefly, but Grak explained that this was Sarah Williams and she was here to see the Goblin King, and they were let through without further protest.

Jareth was waiting in the throne room, to all intents and purposes not expecting Sarah at all. When Grak announced her presence, the Goblin King raised his eyebrows and stepped lightly up from the throne. He would have seemed caught off-guard by her visit, if it wasn't for the smug smile trying to take over his face.

"Sarah. What a surprise."

"What's the deal?" Sarah asked.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Jareth answered her, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Sure you haven't. Goblins following me, bothering my boyfriend every time I'm anywhere near him, and claiming you've sworn them to secrecy? If you wanted them to hide your involvement, you wouldn't have told them to keep quiet."

"You have a goblin infestation? How unfortunate."

Sarah crossed her arms, but knew she looked neither threatening nor angry. "I want you to call them off."

Jareth took a few steps closer to her; Sarah, not knowing why, leaned back just a little. "And what will you do if I refuse?"

"I'll give Jeremy the book."

"He'd only wish you, or someone else close to you, away."

"I'll teach him the words."

Jareth shrugged. "He won't know what to do with them."

Sarah cast around for something, anything, that would threaten the indomitable Goblin King. Finally, in the most vicious tone she could summon, she said, 'I'll buy the goblins a karaoke machine."

He blanched. "You wouldn't."

"And 90s pop karaoke CDs."

"Not even I would be that cruel," Jareth protested.

"Backstreet Boys. Christina Aguilera." When this failed to provoke the desired response, Sarah hissed, "Enrique Iglesias. Sung by goblins."

The Goblin King looked to his subjects for support, but found none.

"Off-key," Sarah added, in an undertone.

"Fine," Jareth growled at his now quite smug adversary. "I'll call off your shadows."

"Great! That's all I wanted. Now, how do I get home?"

The King of the Goblins seemed to have recovered some of his pride when he replied, "But you wished yourself into my realm. You can't leave."

Sarah stared at him until even she felt slightly uncomfortable, and then began to hum "Bye Bye Bye".

"Oh, all right," Jareth finally, grudgingly, agreed, after a few of the more forward goblins in the room had begun to sing along. "Safe passage back to the Aboveground."

"And my honour guard?"

"As good as gone." He pointed to a door that, last time Sarah had been here, had led to a room like an M. C. Escher painting come alive. Now it was barred by a heavy oak door. "That door will take you back."

As Sarah crossed the room, she heard him muttering, "I don't even want to know how she knows that song."

She smiled, opened the door, and stepped through.

She was actively surprised when she came out in the study of her apartment, a room she never used. She'd almost thought she'd be dropped into the Bog of Stench or something equally unpleasant for inflicting bad pop music on the Goblin King.

She was still congratulating herself on her victory when Jeremy walked past the open study door, then checked himself and walked backwards until he was looking through the door at her. "What are you doing in there?"

"What are you doing in here?" Sarah yelped.

In answer, Jeremy held up an old-fashioned bronze key. "You gave me this nearly a year ago."

"That's right, I'd forgotten," Sarah sighed. She'd thought for one paranoid second that Jeremy had magically walked through her rather solid front door, or flown through the window, or something equally absurd.

"You didn't answer my knock, so I let myself in. I remembered you saying Jamie was out, but I was sure it was today we'd planned to go for a picnic in the park, so I knew you wouldn't be gone long. Your locks aren't very good, you know. You should talk to your landlord about that." Jeremy stared confusedly at Sarah. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

"Sorry, I forgot it was today. I've been kind of forgetful lately." An inspiration struck Sarah, and she pointed at the computer on the desk. "I've been working on the novel again."

Jeremy nodded in complete understanding. "Oh, I see. Sorry to disturb you. Do you want to reschedule our date?"

Sarah smiled to herself, realising again that she really did love him. He was charming in a way that...certain people could never be, with the air of wary awkwardness he wore like a cloak, and these little gestures, like planning a picnic in the park, or plotting a way to give her time to write but still work in some together time. Even now, as he picked his way through the maze of fusty old furniture that Jamie'd brought with her, inherited from some aunt or another, he looked both as though he knew exactly what he was doing and as though he wasn't sure he was doing it right. You either had to love someone like that, or smack them. And there was no way she was going to let any goblins come between them.

"No. I think we couldn't have picked a better day for it."


	9. Chapter 9

"Helena, for the last time, will you please go to bed?"

Helena plopped herself down on the couch. "No. I wanna watch Alice in Wonderland."

Toby had to grip the back of the chair to keep himself from tearing at his reddish hair. "No. I told you, I'll tape it for you and you can watch it in the morning. Your mom said eight o'clock is bedtime, and I'm not taking any -" He checked himself. "Any suggestions from you."

Helena pouted. "Can I stay up and draw with you then?"

"No!" Toby stopped, stared at the wall above Helena's head, and took deep breaths. He was determined not to lose his cool at a six-year-old kid. There were still two weeks of this to endure, for crying out loud! Why did Sarah assume he could handle a child on his own? He didn't know the first thing about kids! "No drawing, no Alice in Wonderland, no Fraggle Rock, no nothing! It is bedtime, and by that I mean time to get your butt in bed, and go to sleep, not time to stall for as long as humanly possible!"

Helena seemed singularly unimpressed by this demonstration. Toby cast around wildly for something, anything, that might drive home the idea that she actually did have to listen to him. What would scare a six-year-old into cooperating? 'Melting' Salvadore Dali clock, doodle of manticore, copies of Brian Froud's _Faeries, Gnomes_ and _Giants_ books, framed sketch of spiny mace-nunchaks? No, too scary. Finished watercolour spread of grotesque little faces lunging towards you from out of darkness?

Toby grinned. _Perfect._

"If you don't go to bed right now, I'm going to leave you down here and turn out all the lights. And when the goblins come poking around my house to see if there're any bad children they can steal away into shadows, I'll let them take you. I won't even roll over if I hear you screaming."

Helena laughed. This was not the effect Toby had been aiming for. "What?"

"You're funny." Helena crossed her legs and scrutinized her uncle. "The goblins wouldn't take me, you know," she added off-handedly.

"Yes, they would. They're very fond of small children. Cats, too, but goblins like to eat cats. I don't know what they do with children."

"Oh!" Helena's face had lit up. "Like a fragglewump?"

"A...what?"

"an ugly old troll that eats cats," Helena quoted, as if from memory.

"Huh." Toby had to admit, he'd never heard of a fragglewump, and he liked to consider himself something of an expert on all things Faerie, both Seelie and Unseelie. Not that they existed. But still. It was something to boast about to various publishers and companies, and had landed him two illustrating jobs. "I guess so. Maybe they're related."

"Maybe," Helena conceded.

"But the goblins would take you. They just love kids who break the rules."

Helena shook her head. "Uh-uh. My mom beat the goblin's king, so now no goblins will ever bother me again."

Toby groaned. "Thanks, Sarah," he muttered under his breath. It sounded just like something his sister would come up with – beating up the monsters that legitimate childhood fears created, rather than trying to find the source of the fear. Making the world into a story. He had to admit, sometimes he was a bit jealous of how she saw the world. But only sometimes. And when she was unwittingly undermining his one chance to get her daughter to go to bed, less so than usual. "Who told you that? Your mom, huh?"

Helena shook her head again. "Nope. The goblins."

Toby laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. No offence to Sarah or her husband, what's-his-name...Jeremy, or even to Helena, but the girl creeped him right out of his skin sometimes. "Interesting. I guess that was...nice of them. Hey, how about if I tuck you in?"

Helena sighed. A steely glint in Toby's eye told her he wouldn't put up with the stay-up game much longer. "Okay. But will you tell me a story?"

Toby froze. "A story? Uh..."

Helena jumped up off the couch encouragingly. "Yeah, a story. I'll even put on my PJs first and brush my teeth."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do that," Toby answered dazedly. A story! Damn, it'd been years since he'd last heard the kind of story he could tell to a six-year-old girl.

There was a sound of running footsteps from the short hall that separated the main room and the bedrooms. Toby rushed over to his bookcase and pulled down the three illustrated volumes that had caught his eye earlier. Nothing interesting met him. No anecdotes formed into interesting tales. There were no stories in these beautiful books; they were blinking encyclopaedias!

The running footsteps had reached the bathroom. Toby rifled through the rest of his bookshelf. _Love's Flaming Heart_...how did that get there? Kira must have left it on his shelf as a joke. Toby tucked the Harlequin romance behind an Ansel Adams tome and hoped Helena wouldn't notice it.

The footsteps returned to the bedroom. Toby put the fairy-tale encyclopaedias back on the shelf, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Helena's cheery voice called, "I'm ready!" from the guest bedroom.

"She'll never go to sleep if I don't tell her a damn story," Toby muttered. 'Curse you, Sarah." He slumped down the hall like a man going to meet his doom.

Helena was, indeed, ready for bed. _There's one bright spot,_ Toby thought miserably. "So, what kind of story would you like to hear?" he asked his niece, who scrumpled up her nose in concentration.

"Something with goblins in it," she demanded. Toby groaned. Why couldn't she have chosen something easy, like _Cinderella_?

But then, he realised, she had. Who's to say that _Cinderella_ never had goblins in it?

Encouraged, he began, "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl, whose wicked stepmother hated her. This stepmother always made her do the chores and look after the baby. But what no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl, and had granted her certain powers."

"I've heard this one," Helena complained.

If it had been possible, Toby would have stared at his own mouth. Where had that come from? Powers? Goblin King? They had nothing to do with _Cinderella_ , he was sure. "You've heard it before?" he asked, not sure he'd heard Helena correctly.

She nodded. "Yup. Mom told me that one. Tell me a different story."

Toby breathed a sigh of relief. Of course. Now it made sense. Sarah had told him the story of the Labyrinth, too, so many times that now it was engraved in his brain. He'd just fallen back into a familiar groove.

"Okay. A new one." Toby shut his eyes, and when he opened them, an idea presented itself. "Once upon a time, there was a spoiled little prince who didn't believe in magic. Because he didn't believe in magic, he thoroughly disliked his father the king's court magician, who he thought was a fraud. The prince was always trying to think of new ways to get the court magician fired, so that he wouldn't have to put up with the old fraudster any longer."

"There aren't any goblins," Helena pointed out.

"I'm getting to them," Toby rebuffed her. "The king had on a wall in a vault in his palace a very valuable and magical mirror known as the Goblin Glass. It had this curious property: if you said the right words while looking into it, you could see any of the Fair Folk's reflections, be they invisible, disguised, whatever. This mirror was very valuable, and the cunning little prince knew that if he could frame the magician for the theft of the mirror, the magician would most definitely be sacked. So the prince hatched a clever plan to sneak the Goblin Glass into the magician's room.

"Fortunately for the magician, he found the mirror before the guards did. And he knew from experience that the prince was the only one who would have tried to get him kicked out of court. So the magician hatched a plan to teach the prince a lesson. He said the words over the mirror, and before long, caught a small goblin that had been creeping about his room. He explained the prince's devious naughtiness to the goblin, and commanded it to go spirit the prince away.

"But the goblin couldn't. He wasn't allowed to lay hands on any person of blood royal. So, with much pleading and cajoling on the magician's part, the goblin was convinced to go back and consult with the one person in the entire Goblin kingdom who could steal away a prince – the Goblin King himself."

The tale wove on into the night, one enraptured little girl and one amazed twentysomething watching it shimmer in the dark air, adding plot twists and characters as it desired, shedding them as necessary. Through it all, Toby was never quite sure if he was telling the story, or if he were the one being told. And Helena didn't get to sleep until nearly ten anyway.

The next day, Toby went to the library and took out an anthology of fairy tales. It seemed safer.


	10. Chapter 10

"I hate you!"

_Slam._

It was only a few minutes later that Sarah knocked on the trailer door, but to Helena, steaming inside, it seemed like an eternity. She ignored the knock, even though, in the red-hot furnace of her anger, she'd been waiting for it.

"Helena?" Sarah's voice sounded curiously muffled through the trailer walls. "Helena, I want you to apologise to your father."

"Why should I?" was the sullen reply.

Sarah sighed. "Helena, your father has worked very hard to get us to this point. We've both worked very hard. So I would appreciate it if you would show a little consideration for that fact." _I sound like my stepmother,_ she realised. _And here I swore up and down I'd never be like her._

"I've worked hard too!" Helena's voice was on the very edge of a shout. "What about me?"

"Helena, we are very grateful for everything you've done to help your father's dream come to life. But you have to try to see things from our viewpoint. Your father's poured so much of himself into this circus, put so much time and effort into making it real -"

" 'We', 'our', 'us'. Mom, where do you end and Dad begin?"

Sarah bit her lip and counted to five. "Helena, you are acting very ungraciously."

"Everything is about Dad's dream! What about my dreams? You've got to know how I'm feeling, Mom. Don't you have dreams too? I mean, didn't you, before you became Dad's sock puppet?"

"Helena!"

Sarah ground her teeth together, thinking of the box in her and Jeremy's trailer that held several notebooks' worth of unfinished manuscript. What made Helena's words worse was that she had a point. Jeremy's dream had trumped everyone else's.

But then Sarah thought of the little red storybook buried under the aforementioned manuscript. "Yes,' she answered, and was glad to hear that her voice sounded steady and calm. "Yes, I did. But some things are more important. Your father was – is - more important to me than a book deal, or a teaching position, or a role in a play. Sometimes we don't get what we think we want, but what we do get is what we really needed all along."

Those weren't quite the right words. And therein lay the problem. She'd never been able to find just the right words, unless someone else had written them. The manuscript now gathering dust had been started and re-started more times than Sarah could count. She just didn't have the right words.

From behind the door, Helena's scoff showed exactly what she thought of this feeble attempt to pacify her rage.

Sarah remembered a line from a movie she'd once seen. _Peter Pan_ , that was it. Mrs. Darling had said, "Your father was young once, too, with dreams of his own." Wendy had asked, "But what did he do with them?" And Mrs. Darling had answered, "Oh, he still has them. He tucked them away in a drawer, and every night, we take them out and look at them. And every night, it gets harder and harder to put them away again."

Sarah had sworn she'd never let that happen. She'd thrown herself into making Jeremy's dream come true, dragging him out of his dull editing job and into the life he'd always wanted. But now, she realised, she'd let herself take a backseat. She'd let her daughter's life take a backseat. She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought that Helena would resent them both for it.

Sarah took a few deep breaths, trying to quell the uncertainty rising up from her toes. "I still want you to apologise," she said sternly.

There was silence from the trailer.

"Helena?"

Still silence.

"Helena, are you listening to me?"

Nothing.

Sarah felt panic begin to claw at her airway. Not another child. Not another child. "Helena!"

"What?"

Sarah couldn't explain the relief that suddenly made her feel lightheaded. "I love you."

There was no reply.

A few minutes later, the trailer door creaked slowly open. Helena peered around the door. Once she was sure that her mother had gone, she retreated back inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

Jeremy noticed, shortly after Helena was born, that Sarah was becoming increasingly frustrated with the responsibilities of mother hood. He did his best to help out, to do his share, but he was acutely aware that it wasn't enough.

So when tickets to a Halloween ball came on sale, Jeremy saw it as the perfect opportunity to give Sarah a night off, and to remind her that she was still beautiful, still desirable, and still a separate entity from her daughter. He bought two tickets immediately, and then set about working out the little logistical problems.

His aunt was unable to babysit that night, and Jeremy secretly felt quite relieved. He didn't want to ask Sarah's brother, since he wasn't quite sure he trusted his barely one-year-old daughter with a twenty-two-year-old college student. And asking Sarah's parents seemed like too much of an imposition (not to mention the fact that he was terrified of Sarah's 'evil stepmother'). He finally ended up engaging the girl who lived down the block, a sixteen-year-old tomboy who was constantly chewing gum, to babysit Halloween night. She'd come highly recommended, though Jeremy was pretty sure the person who'd referred her to him was her uncle.

Costumes presented some difficulty. Jeremy finally settled on sneaking a dress of Sarah's, which he knew for a fact she still fit, out of her closet and finding a dress in the same size at a costume shop. The costume he chose for himself was a medieval jester's outfit, harlequin-checked in black and red, with a matching hat complete with bells. It wasn't exactly a knight in shining armour, but he felt it suited him. And it did match the dress, and was slightly less tacky than the vampire costume he'd also been considering.

He made reservations at a restaurant across the park from the hall where the dance would take place, and engaged a cab to take them to the restaurant, so they could walk through the park at dusk. They'd have to wear the costumes the whole time, but time, experience, and one late-night confession had assured Jeremy that this wouldn't bother Sarah. In fact, she might even thank him for it.

All plans laid, Jeremy set about pitching in at home with a will. Sarah must have wondered why, even though he was getting up in the middle of the night with Helena, changing dirty diapers, and burning himself with too-hot formula, Jeremy often had a slightly manic, impatient grin plastered across his face.

On October thirty-first, Sarah came into their shared bedroom to see him sitting in the armchair by the phone, bell-hatted head in his hands. Sarah took in the jester's costume, the red dress laid out at the foot of the bed, the sloppily-hung-up phone, and her husband's distress, and asked, "What on Earth?"

"I wanted to surprise you." Jeremy held up the tickets, his face a picture of misery. "I planned everything, so you wouldn't have to worry about anything, and we could go out and enjoy ourselves. But the babysitter's mother just called. The babysitter broke her arm playing hockey and she's just been sent to the hospital. And it's Halloween and everyone has plans and it's too late to find another babysitter and now we can't go out at all and -"

"All right," Sarah interrupted, taking charge of the situation. "It'll work out. I'll find us a babysitter." The germ of an idea was beginning to take hold. "Now go get ready. I'll get dressed and call a friend, see if he can watch Helena for the night. It'll all work out, you'll see." She gave Jeremy her best reassuring smile as she shuffled him out of the room. At the door, she stopped and kissed him on the nose. "Thank you," she whispered, and then shut the bedroom door.

First, she slipped into a pair of nylons, and pulled on the dress. She was relieved to see that it fit – she'd no idea how Jeremy had known which size to get. The dress was red, cut medieval-style, with sleeves that draped nearly to the ground and a gold belt covered in Celtic knot designs. It was simple yet elegant, and very Sarah. She loved it immediately.

The next thing she did was grab the phone, and stare at it for a long minute, while the dial tone buzzed. Then she hung the phone back up, walked over to the mirror, and said, "Hoggle, I need you."

It was a long time before her friend appeared in the mirror, so long that Sarah almost thought he wasn't coming. She wouldn't blame him – she hadn't exactly been the greatest correspondent over the years. She wouldn't have been too surprised if he'd forgotten about her.

But Hoggle did show up. He was somewhat rounder than when Sarah had last seen him (although she supposed he could say the same of her), and his weathered face was slightly more creased, although, Sarah was glad to see, they appeared to be mostly laugh lines. When he saw her, he did a double-take.

'What's the matter?" Sarah asked.

"You looks – you looks like a lady," he answered, disbelievingly.

"Why, what's wrong with that?" Sarah asked, a shade more defensively than she'd intended, and twirled. The skirt billowed out around her, then wrapped itself around her legs like an embrace. Jeremy'd really chosen well. "I thought I looked good."

Hoggle's eyebrows bounced up and down, oscillating wildly from surprise to disapproval and back. "It's just...you looks so grown up."

Sarah shrugged. She'd take it as a compliment. "Thank you. I'm going to a costume party tonight – or I would be, if I could find a babysitter... Say, what are you doing tonight?"

It took Hoggle only a few seconds to catch her drift. "No way! I will not watch your sproggling!"

Sarah only smiled.

"Oh, don't make me do it, Sarah," he groaned.

"I knew I could count on you, Hoggle."

"But I don't know anything about babies!" Hoggle protested vainly.

"I'll give you a crash course. It really means a lot to me that you're willing to do this on such short notice." And Sarah turned around, to where her oldest friend now stood in the room, and planted a kiss squarely on the top of his head.

"Aaaouww, Sarah!"

* * *

As Sarah and Jeremy walked out the door, Jeremy turned to his wife and whispered, "Are you sure these friends of yours are reliable?"

Sarah tapped lightly on the bell dangling in front of his nose. It jangled and jumped up and down on his hat. "Stop worrying so much."

"They just seem a little...odd."

"Jeremy, it's Halloween. People are allowed to be odd. For example." She gestured, taking in her skirts and his curling-toed, bell-tipped shoes. "You. And me."

Jeremy shrugged. "You make a good point. Shall we, milady?"

"Indeed, my Fool."

Sarah took his arm, and they stepped out into the night.


	12. Chapter 12

The reception was over, and Sarah couldn't help but notice how pathetic the hall seemed now, littered with streamers and the remains of cake but devoid of people.

She smoothed her skirts self-consciously, acutely aware of the vacuum around her, and turned on her heel, planning to go look for Jeremy. Instead, she very nearly walked straight into her stepmother.

Sarah stammered out a few confused apologies, which Irene brushed off as quickly as Sarah came up with them. "No, really, Sarah, it's all right. I was just looking for you."

"Oh." Utterly unable to think of a reply that didn't sound rude or contrived, Sarah settled for smiling questioningly and waiting for her stepmother to continue. Irene did not disappoint.

"I just wanted to talk to you, to make sure you've thought this all through. Yes, it may seem a bit late, but I prefer to think I'm early." Irene patted her updo nervously, as if trying to subdue it, then seemed to realise what she was doing and laughed. "I must be getting old."

Sarah giggled nervously, then clapped a gloved hand over her mouth.

"Anyway." Irene had put on her 'business face', Sarah noticed with dismay. "Have you thought about getting another job?" Sarah was quite sure 'a real job' had been on the tip of her stepmother's tongue, but she appreciated that Irene had swallowed it.

"I'll be fine," Sarah reassured her stepmother. "Jeremy's already an assistant editor at his publishing house. I could quit my job at the bookstore tomorrow if I wanted and still be fine." A thought struck her, and she added, "Why _didn't_ you bring it up sooner?"

Irene –shockingly- sighed. "Well," and it struck Sarah that the woman seemed somehow... _softer_ than usual. "In my experience most people like to wait until after the wedding to discuss babies."

Sarah, despite herself, felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

"And," Irene continued, "I don't want you to get hurt. Should anything...unforeseen happen, I don't want you to get caught without a way to support yourself." She shook her head. "I'll admit, you seem to have lived a bit of a charmed life up until now, but real life is not a fairy tale."

Sarah swallowed her initial snappy response when she saw the look on her stepmother's face. What was this? Irene hadn't even got sentimental during the ceremonies. So why did she look almost...wistful? And why now?

"You know, I was a lot like you when I was younger," Irene said, and it was all Sarah could do to choke down a laugh. Her stepmother? Really?

Irene had obviously noticed, though, because she said, "I know, it's rather hard to believe, isn't it? But it's the truth." She took a deep breath. "I haven't told anyone this, not even your father. But I think you'd understand. There was this book."

This was starting to sound familiar.

" _The Princess and the Goblin._ "

 _Very_ familiar.

"It was a nice silly fantasy about a princess who loved to sing and goblins underground that loved music. Nonsense, really. But the princess' name -" She laughed and patted her hair again, and Sarah found herself leaning in, eager for the rest of the story. "Her name was Irene."

A slow smile crept over Sarah's face as it sank in. "And you thought..."

"Exactly. It wasn't until my second year of college that I really realised. The world's no fairy tale, and I couldn't sit around waiting for it to become one. It's a lesson we all have to learn, but it hurt to have it come so late." She looked to her left, and it was a while before she spoke next. "I know you think I've been too hard on you, and maybe I have. But I didn't want you to got through the same thing."

Sarah realised with a shock that, in all the years she'd known Irene, this was the closest thing to an apology she'd ever got from her. "What happened?" she asked, as much to fill the silence as out of real curiosity. "What made you -" _Give up_ sounded far too harsh. "What made you grow up?" _Oh, nice one, Wendy._

But Irene just smiled. "There was a boy I met in first year. An actor. And he was quite an actor – he certainly had me fooled for a while. I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, and maybe he did too – for a while. But by the time he left me for some actress, he'd been looking for a replacement for me for quite a while. I was so absorbed in my silly dream, I couldn't see what was going on right under my own eyes." She sighed again. "He used to love my singing. Your father -" and suddenly she sounded more like the Irene Sarah knew – "your father is tone-deaf."

Sarah couldn't think of words strong enough to describe how awkward it felt to suddenly be shown this side of her stepmother, who had always seemed to operate entirely out of iron-bound practicality. Luckily, Irene quickly regained her composure. "You must think I'm being silly."

"Of course not," Sarah quickly replied.

"Well. I won't keep you any longer." Irene said quickly. "I've said my piece. Go find that husband of yours and enjoy yourself."

As she left the hall, Sarah made a mental note to ask her friends to pay Irene a visit next time she talked to them. She had a feeling it would, at the very least, be worth it to see the look on her stepmother's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Princess and the Goblin" is a real book, by George MacDonald, and the main character is named Irene. I figured this might go a little way towards explaining why the manga series ignored 20 years of fanon when naming her.


	13. Chapter 13

The cold night air bit at Helena through the skin-tight, midnight blue of her juggler costume. The big top wasn't far from her trailer, but on nights like tonight, it was far enough. She hugged herself in an attempt to bring warmth into her cold self and ducked quickly through the ticket booth, noting as she did that her mother wasn't there. Probably inside getting ready for her act. Helena swallowed an obscenity before she muttered it within earshot of the audience. Why did her mother have to be so...so...so _like her mother_?

" _Helena."_

" _It never ends! 'Helena, juggle. Helena, sell popcorn. Helena, smile for the punters.'"_

The backstage area was in chaos. Helena ignored it – chaos was normal operation for a circus, especially a masked one. She slipped past, around, between frenzied performers like a salmon slicing smoothly upstream. Her father was here somewhere.

" _You know your dad keeps this circus running on charm and peanuts. It's his dream."_

" _Exactly. It's his thing. Why should I suffer for it?"_

Inside, it was considerably warmer, the crush of bodies making up the crowd and the frantic action backstage, performers desperately trying to pull their act together before having to go on, generated their own warmth. The space heaters helped too, Helena reflected.

Jeremy, spotting his daughter, motioned her over, and Helena hurried to join him.

"Sorry I'm late," Helena said, taking the mask her father handed her and strapping it to the top of her head.

"Your mother tells me you've had another row," Jeremy said, but he sounded more saddened than angry. "Why can't you two get along?"

"Because," Helena answered shortly, looking away. She couldn't stand to look at her father and tell him that it was all his fault, that she just didn't want to live his dream anymore. Besides, knowing her father, he'd probably give up the circus altogether if she pestered him enough, and Helena didn't think she could stand having that on her conscience. She didn't want to destroy her father's precious circus. She just wanted out.

" _All of those kids in there, they want to run away and join a circus."_

" _Great! They can have my life. I want to run away and join real life!"_

She scanned the array of performers gathered backstage. There, the fire-eater was lighting his torches, there, a belated member of the band rushed by, his elaborate mask looking slightly the worse for his hurry. She wondered who that was in the corner contact-juggling what looked like crystal balls. She'd wanted to learn how to contact juggle for ages, but her father didn't know how and her mother refused to let her learn. Whoever that was must be new. Helena wished he'd step out from behind that acrobat so she could get a better look at him.

" _Helena, please."_

" _No."_

" _Be reasonable. Come on, open the door."_

" _Okay! I'm getting dressed!"_

And there, talking to Pingo, the mime, was her mother. Helena rolled her eyes, but modified her expression quickly when her mother glanced in her direction. For a moment, her mother smiled almost apologetically, but then, instead, she shook her head and gave Helena a look of disappointment when she thought her daughter wasn't looking.

" _There is no need to shout at me."_

" _I'm not..."_

"Oh, am I a disappointment?" Helena muttered, under her breath. It felt like something big and black and ugly was sitting on her chest, making it hard for her to breathe, panting its hot breath against her face. It disappointed her mother that she had dreams? Then what could she do to make it better? This was ridiculous, and it was hardly Helena's fault. But damned if she could do anything to change it. In fact, she couldn't do anything at all! It just...it wasn't fair!

"Helena! We're on!"

Helena swallowed hard, tasting bitterness trailing down her throat. With one last glance at her mother, who was probably even now bemoaning Helena's inability to be perfect, she turned, and slipped out through the curtain into the center ring, thanking her mask for hiding her scowl from the audience.

She didn't hear the thump from behind her over the fanfare the band played as she and her father – no. Raymond and Fortuna – danced out onto the stage. A thump that was in all ways exactly like the sound of a body hitting the dirt floor.

" _Helena Campbell, you're going to be the death of me!"_

" _I wish I was."_


	14. Chapter 14

"Where is she?"

The arrogant bastard barely glanced up before returning all his attention to the crystal ball he was playing with absently. "Ah, Jeremy. I don't believe I invited you here."

"Cut the crap, Goblin King." If any more blood rushed to his head, Jeremy felt, it'd explode. "Where is she?"

The ghost of a smile traced a path across the thin lips of the – the fairy _creature_ on the throne. "I haven't the faintest idea who you're talking about."

"You know full well who I'm talking about!" Jeremy paused, tamping down his anger. No matter how satisfying it would be to start screaming like a lunatic or – better yet – just take a swing at his adversary, it wouldn't achieve anything other than getting him thrown out of the castle beyond the goblin city on his ass.

When he spoke again, his voice was back under control, although the rage below was rattling the lid, threatening to boil over. "What. Have you done. With my daughter."

The smile had disappeared like quicksilver. "I don't make the wishes, Jeremy. I merely grant them."

"You -" Jeremy unclenched the fists that had formed almost involuntarily at the Goblin King's words. "Where is she?"

In answer, the smug blond prat in tights tossed the crystal ball to Jeremy, who caught it with the practiced instinct of a juggler. He dithered for a long moment, not trusting the… _person_ who had drugged his wife, stalked her for over twenty years after she'd refused him, and had made his life a living hell for a few unfortunately _very_ memorable months. But it wasn't long before curiosity and impatience overtook his prudence, and Jeremy risked a look into the crystal.

It showed his daughter's bedroom. But before Jeremy could protest that his old nemesis was spying on his daughter, the view shifted, pulling away from the empty bed and careening towards the ceiling in a way that made Jeremy's stomach do a cartwheel. After several more loop-de-loops that Jeremy was sure were only out of spite, the image in the crystal ball slowly zoomed in on the patchwork city that adorned Helena's walls.

Jeremy looked up. "That's a drawing."

"I know." _Where_ had he got a riding crop from? And what was he planning on doing with it? Surely it wasn't just a prop to tap against the inside of his boot theatrically? Jeremy mentally shook himself. This was the _Goblin King_ he was talking about, after all."Your daughter – Helena, isn't it? Charming girl." He smirked, and Jeremy smoldered. "She's getting quite good at building labyrinths herself."  
He barely blinked when Jeremy flung the crystal at him, merely reached up and caught the ball inches from his face.

"What did you do with here?" Jeremy's voice was low and, he hoped, dangerous. But the Goblin King just smirked.

"You wouldn't want to stop her now, Jeremy. She's been given a chance to take back her misguided wish." He caressed the crystal, almost lovingly. "You wouldn't want it to come true, would you?" And he tossed the crystal back to Jeremy.

This time, the scene was a hospital, antiseptic and white. A room, bare and lonely, and two inmates – ah – patients, each asleep. Jeremy couldn't hear her, but he knew from experience that the old lady in the bed on the right was snoring like a chainsaw.

The figure in the other bed wouldn't be snoring. Or, if she was, she'd be doing it very softly. She was almost as white as the pillow she lay on, and although her dark hair might have contributed to her pallor, Jeremy knew she didn't usually look that bad. And the lines…Lines crisscrossed her beautiful face like a road map of London, lines he'd somehow never noticed before. Lying there, fast asleep as if determined not to wake up until someone else had taken care of things for once, Jeremy's wife looked so tired it was unbelievable.

No, Jeremy realized with a jolt. Not just tired. Sarah looked _old_.

He looked up to see the Goblin King watching him, looking more serious than Jeremy had ever seen him. Not even a trace of a smirk remained on that bizarrely handsome face, and Jeremy found he couldn't put a name to the emotion in those mismatched eyes. When he finally spoke, Jeremy's old enemy's voice was equally unreadable.

"It's not a wish I want to see granted either," was all he said.

A horrible suspicion began to drag clammy fingers up the back of Jeremy's neck. "Oh, Helena," he breathed. "What have you done?"

In the hospital, a ray of sunlight struggled through the ever-present cloud cover for just a few short seconds, illuminating Sarah's face and wiping away the worst of the creases aging her face. In the bleak whiteness of the hospital room, she seemed almost to glow, a sleeping princess waiting for her rescuer.

Jeremy couldn't look any more.

"Isn't there anything I can do?" he asked, finally.

The shadows in the throne room seemed to stretch out, silent and grasping. Jeremy was almost grateful when Sarah's stalker said, "Helena has to do it alone."

"She can't have any help?"

The haughty stare that Jeremy received made him feel he was back on a more familiar footing. "Not from you. And, as I'm the challenger -"

"But you don't even want to -"

"That has nothing to do with it." The Goblin King sat back in his rather uncomfortable-looking throne, tossing the riding crop aside boredly. "If there's something you can do, you'll know, and you'd better do it. And Jeremy."

Jeremy, who had risked another glance at the crystal orb in his hand, looked back up.

"Your daughter had better be able to undo what she did."

No threat, Jeremy noticed. His rival must really be upset. "I wouldn't worry about that. She's got her mother's spirit."

No argument. Just, "I hope she does."

Jeremy had to agree. _For both of their sakes, I hope she does._


	15. Chapter 15

"I can't handle this, Helena! You're driving me up the wall." Jeremy took a deep breath. "Look. I know your mother's illness has been hard on you. I know you want to settle down for a bit. Honey, when all this is over, I promise we'll take a break from the circus for a while. Your mum will need to recuperate, and I – we could all use a bit of a holiday. So can you just please try to hold on for a little while? I know this situation isn't ideal, but it will get better, sweetheart." He ran a hand through his hair. "So if you could stop actively trying to drive me crazy -"

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

Helena was standing in the doorway. "Why are you talking to yourself?"

Jeremy muttered a bad word. "I wasn't, you know."

Helena smirked. "No? Were you talking to the _goblins_ , then?"

Her withering scorn bounced off of Jeremy's bland smile. "No. Just practicing a new routine for Raymondo and Fortuna."

Helena rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please_. Not _that_ bollocks again. Dad, even if mum isn't sick, do you really think the circus will _ever_ go on the road again?"

Behind the shield of his smile, Jeremy seethed. Aloud, though, he said, "No, I don't think it will." Helena's triumphant grin dropped a notch as he added, "I know it will. With your help or without it, young lady."

Helena groaned loudly and theatrically. "Ugh. Whatever. I'm going out."

"Out where?"

"I don't think I really need to tell _you_ that."

"Helena." Helena folded her arms over the skimpy black top Jeremy hadn't even known she'd owned, and fixed her father with a downright evil glare. "I am still your father, you know."

"Really? Hadn't noticed," Helena laughed. "You might try _acting_ like my father, then, instead of a sad clown." As Jeremy sputtered, she added, "And I don't need to _try_ to drive you crazy. You're doing just fine on your own."

As soon as the door slammed behind her, Jeremy barely stifled a frustrated scream.

"Something has _got_ to give," he announced to the room at large. "This is bloody impossible! She's always breathing down my neck, trying to – I think she really wants to make me want to bloody shoot her! She's become a right little terror and everything she does seems planned to send me straight tot eh asylum! I hardly even recognise her anymore, it's all spiky hair and skeezy boys and staying out late! She's even started pulling down that city of hers -" And there he stopped, and stared in horror at his reflection in the mirror.

His reflection, which was now benignly copying him exactly, had just smirked. And, as Jeremy watched, transfixed, it very slowly, very deliberately, winked.

_"She's getting quite good at building labyrinths herself."_

"Oh _no,_ " Jeremy breathed.

* * *

Any other father wouldn't even have given the thought room in his head. Any other father would think his daughter had finally driven him mad. But then, any other father wouldn't be married to Sarah Williams. And so, Jeremy took the opportunity to sneak into Helena's room to investigate.

The place was almost completely transformed. The mask was missing, the framed pictures leaning forlornly in a corner, faces to the wall, and posters of movie stars and bands that Jeremy was sure Helena fervently disliked had taken the place of large suburbs of the city. The urban centre was still intact, but it was huddled together in fear of its impending doom. It looked lost and abandoned in the middle of this ocean of strangeness, and Jeremy felt an odd, sad solidarity with what was left of the city.

He walked a little closer, to inspect the damage his daughter had inflicted on her creation. And there, on the main street, surrounded by winged and masked cats, half-hidden by flying fish, was a masked fellow who looked a little like a juggler. And beside him, a dark-haired female figure in a too-large t-shirt. A figure who Jeremy could have sworn hadn't been there a few days ago, the last time he looked at this particular drawing.

A figure who looked remarkably like his daughter.

It was entirely too silly an idea to entertain. But so was the idea that one's wife had once defeated the king of the goblins in a battle of wills, that one's daughter had caused her mother to fall ill with one misguided wish. And Jeremy found himself wondering if, sometime between meeting Sarah and now, he'd developed some form of paranoid schizophrenia. If he'd imagined all of it. If his little girl was even now in desperate need of a father who had some vague, half-formed notion that she wasn't his daughter at all, that she was some changeling anti-Helena sent to torment him and keep his real daughter from saving her mother...

In short, Jeremy wondered if he really had gone mad.

His daughter's eerily normal walls peered down at him accusingly. He sat down on her bed, head whirling. How could he know? How could he be sure that he hadn't lived an adventure inside his head that bore no relation to reality?

How could he _know_?

The tears came entirely unbidden, and Jeremy sniffed, trying to keep them back. If Helena came in now, she'd go for the throat (figuratively speaking, of course). Even his Helena wouldn't be able to deal with this moment of weakness. No matter what, Jeremy had to be strong for her.

But it came out anyway, half a whisper and half a sob, part plea and part wish.

"Sarah, I need you."


	16. Chapter 16

The community hall was filled with people, elaborate costumes and fancy-dress assortments. It wasn't exactly the riot of colour that Jeremy remembered from their first dance, but the atmosphere was the same.

He understood now why Sarah loved masquerades so much. The aura of mystery that hung over the whole room was palpable, even though he knew that it was nothing more than a dimly-lit community hall and a crowd of people he spoke to every day, hidden behind fancy dress. Everything seemed a little more glamourous, a little more mysterious, a little more dangerous.

As if responding to his thought, the crowd parted with a swirl of skirts and flash of sequins, and Jeremy thought he caught a glimpse of…someone, before a large woman stuffed into a red-and-black heart-patterned gown stepped in and blocked his vision entirely. "Jeremy! Duckie! We haven't seen you around in the longest time. How are you two holding up with that new little one?"

Jeremy tried to see behind the woman's head, but whoever (or _what_ ever) he thought he'd seen had disappeared into the crowd. "We're doing just fine, Mrs. Pierce. Helena has been behaving like an angel."

"Excellent! And your lady wife?" Mrs. Pierce's ridiculous good humour didn't seem to suit her costume, and Jeremy wondered why she'd chosen to dress as the Queen of Hearts in the first place.

"Sarah's right here, you can ask her yourself," Jeremy started, before turning to find that he was quite alone. Mrs. Pierce was still watching him with a mildly bemused expression on her face as he looked frantically around for his wife. "She was just here with me a second ago, I don't know where – Sarah?" He stepped past Mrs. Pierce, surveying the crowd. "I'm sorry, but I've really got to find her. Tell George that I said hello, please."

"Will do, ducks," Mrs. Pierce bustled pleasantly, and she headed off towards the tables set up along the walls, gently shunting aside three waif-like ladies in courtly dress, who watched her go with what looked like an odd hunger in their eyes.

Jeremy didn't dwell on it, though. Something was not right here, and now Sarah was missing. The community hall seemed to grow darker and darker as he pushed through the crowd, each of its members seemingly doing their best to keep him from his goal. At one point, he paused for a moment, and wondered when the community hall had grown so long, when the ceiling had become so high, and where all of the electric lights had gone.

Something was seriously wrong.

Two teenage girls brushed past him, the one who closely resembled a beach ball in a dress knocking him roughly aside with her shoulder. The skinny girl who was, oddly enough, carrying an umbrella even though she was inside, turned to give Jeremy a faintly disdainful look, and Jeremy returned it unopened. A few seconds later, he was drenched to the skin as a passing raincloud opened up over his head before scurrying after the girl with the umbrella.

In the face of the evidence, Jeremy was forced to conclude that he was almost definitely not in the community hall anymore.

A sense of immense dread and fear pressed down on Jeremy, making it suddenly hard to breathe. He had to stop and take deep breaths, forcing himself not to panic. Whatever was happening here was beyond his experience, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to deal. And living with Sarah for more than a week would definitely teach someone a thing or two about how to handle the unexpected. Even when it seemed to involve magic. Actually, _especially_ when it seemed to involve magic.

"First rule: stay away from the buffet table," Jeremy muttered to himself. Where would Sarah be in all of this? Or was she here at all? What if she was back in the community hall, and in trying to find her he'd merely got himself mired in the same predicament he'd thought to save her from?

No, that made no sense. The point of all of this was to get to Sarah. Getting him out of the way would have been an afterthought. Jeremy's rival had learned a thing or two as well.

Jeremy set off with new determination, glaring intently at all the passing dancers, searching for a flash of red gown and dark hair. He was a little amazed by the sheer number and variety of the guests, some of whom couldn't possibly pass for human even if they tried and most of whom weren't trying very hard. He was sure he stuck out like a sore thumb, but pressed on regardless. He wasn't here to win the fairy court's approval, after all. Just to win back his bride.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the faintest glimpse of a flash of red. Spinning on his heel, Jeremy dashed after it, only to just barely catch another glance of red skirts, quickly gathered up in one hand and pulled out of sight as the owner danced away in the opposite direction.

Jeremy stopped and thought again, ignoring the panic that was trying to edge out his thoughts. He was being led astray, wasn't he? The old will-o'-the-wisp trick, played with a scrap of richest red. He cursed, softly, and a gaggle of remarkably grotesque creatures squeaked and giggled as though quite pleasantly scandalized. Jeremy really hoped he hadn't just hit on them.

"Oh, bugger this," he shouted, finally giving up. "I'm in no mood to play games. Goblin King, where the hell is my wife?"

A hush descended over the whole of the cavernous ballroom. Then, with the faintest whispering rustle of skirts and petticoats, of rumours and ghosts, the crowd drew apart, clearing a straight path between Jeremy and, at the very end of the ballroom, Sarah.

At first, Jeremy barely recognized her. Rather than the red dress, she was clad in a poufy white concoction that seemed to be more made of clouds and stars than actual fabric, her dark hair piled on her head in a tangled mockery of courtly styles, threaded with silver and pearls. She looked younger than Jeremy had ever seen her, and she was staring ahead with a look of intense concentration, as though searching for something. A faint white glow seemed to hang in the air around her, sucking the life and colour from her immediate surroundings, as though she were slightly more real than the fey creatures clustered all around her.

Jeremy felt his mouth go dry at the sight of this vision, half from fear of what had happened to his beloved Sarah, half at the sheer beauty he saw before him. Even on her wedding day, Sarah had never looked quite like this. She was too beautiful, too radiant, too _perfect_ to be true.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Jeremy spun, feeling anger begin to boil in his chest, only to find himself nose-to-nose with a crystal ball. In its depths, the oddly radiant figure of Sarah wove through the same crowd that filled the ballroom. Jeremy chanced a look over his shoulder, only to see the whole room deserted, seeming at once more cavernous and smaller than it had been while full.

A few faint chimes, the first notes of an oddly familiar melody, rang through the air, echoing off of the pillars and columns and marble and tile, until it came back carrying undertones heavy with loss, with sadness, and with a sinister, almost mocking harmony. The source seemed to be a small white object, sitting abandoned on the floor where the illusion of Sarah had been moments earlier. Jeremy stared for a few seconds before realizing that it was a music box, a tiny white-gowned figure whirling jerkily to the echoing notes it was producing.

Jeremy turned on his heel, glaring down the grinning Goblin King. "I'm only going to ask this once. What have you done with my wife?"


	17. Chapter 17

"This is my dream!"

Helena's mother smiled at her, beatifically. For some reason, it was utterly infuriating. It seemed to challenge her, to mock her gently. It was the same sort of indulgent smile you might give a child who insisted that yes, the friend that only she could see _was_ real. Helena couldn't remember her mother ever looking at her like that, in that maddeningly smug sort of way. _Isn't it cute, what they'll believe at that age…_ She'd gotten it from teachers, babysitters, the lady who taught her piano lessons, pretty much everyone who'd met her between the ages of one and twelve, but Helena could always rely on her mother to believe her. Sarah always gave the impression that she not only trusted Helena, but that she _knew_ her daughter was telling the truth, no matter how ridiculous or absurd it might seem. So seeing that familiarly indulgent smile scribbled across her mother's equally familiar face was like a slap.

Helena could feel herself getting angry, could tell her temper was ready to explode. But she forced herself to cap it, to take a breath and concentrate. Losing her temper hadn't exactly helped her out. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. And getting frustrated now could lose her precious moments. She had to hunt down the charm, whatever it was, before this Dark Queen could get her hands on it. She had to _think._ She had to save this world.

But right now…her mother was here. And for just a few seconds, everything was all right again.

* * *

"I haven't done anything with _your wife_ ," the Goblin King sneered. As if to prove his point, he took a step forwards, the long, fluttering cape that flowed from the shoulders of what Jeremy dismissed as a faery tuxedo sweeping up like a conjuror's curtain and settling back to reveal –

"Sarah!"

Jeremy ran forward, but faltered as the woman he loved skewered him with a gaze of icy indifference. Suddenly, Jeremy was in eighth grade again. He'd asked Danica Hughes to the dance, and she'd given him that exact same look, as if he weren't even worthy of contempt. As if he were something she'd stepped in, and she wasn't sure what it was, only that she wanted to get rid of it.

Sarah was wearing an unfamiliar dress, not the red one he'd chosen so carefully. This was midnight coloured, so deep that it looked infinite, glimmering faintly with the light of distant stars. Her dark hair was swept up and away from her face, and her eyes shone darkly from under deeply shadowed lids. It was sharp and severe and beautiful in a way that almost hurt to look at, as if Sarah were all cutting edges.

But Jeremy looked a little closer at her eyes, and managed, somehow, to laugh.

The Goblin King smirked. "You're not impressed?"

"It takes a better illusion than that to impress me," Jeremy answered rebelliously. "And Sarah'd never wear that. _That -_ " he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the pseudo-Sarah, who was blinking slowly at Jeremy, managing to look completely vacant and rather put out at the same time – "looks like it's dressed up as Elvira."

He hadn't been sure, but the flash of outrage that darkened the Goblin King's face for less than a second was all the answer he needed. This wasn't Sarah before him. He wasn't sure where she was, but –

And then he remembered.

"This was all a trick, wasn't it?" Jeremy was sure it was probably unwise to be grinning like an idiot at the Goblin King, who was glaring at Jeremy as if daring him to explain. "She's still in the hall, looking for me, isn't she?"

"And what makes you think that?" the Goblin King asked smoothly, but Jeremy could tell that he'd ruffled his opponent's feathers. "How do you know that I haven't got her locked in a tower somewhere? That she isn't somewhere in my realm, lost to you forever? That I haven't stolen her away?"

"You couldn't have," Jeremy stated confidently. "You have no power over her."

The pseudo-Sarah burst into a cloud of darkly glittering dust, making Jeremy cough. Judging by the look he was now getting from the enraged Goblin King, Jeremy had scored a direct hit. His moment of triumph was short- lived, however.

A wicked smirk curled cruelly across the Goblin King's thin lips, and he waved a hand dismissively. "You're right, of course," he said, face twisting as though the words tasted bitter and awful. "I can't touch her." His mismatched eyes narrowed, and he took two steps toward Jeremy, menacing and intimidating. Jeremy managed to stand his ground, even though he was aware of a certain pressure in the air, a heaviness bearing down on him. Magic, it seemed, had its advantages, even if it was only being used to scare your opponent into backing down.

"But as for you…" The Goblin King's glare was almost hypnotic, and Jeremy blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. "You don't enjoy the same protection." He began to circle around Jeremy, who turned on the spot, not eager to have his back to the Goblin King. "And I wonder how, now that you've successfully made your way into my realm, you think you're going to get out again."

Jeremy told himself to stand his ground, not to back down. This was the final straw. It would end here, tonight, for better or for worse.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said bravely, and was pleased to find that his voice hardly shook at all.

The Goblin King arched one oddly slanted eyebrow as he surveyed Jeremy, from head to toe, his glance taking in the jester's costume which the rather gangly, somewhat ungainly young man challenging him had apparently voluntarily chosen to wear. "You really aren't," he replied, half to himself, and Jeremy though he sounded surprised. "What makes you so sure of yourself? You know you'll never be everything she wants, no matter how hard you try. Whereas I can, with so little effort, bend time to my will, reorder the very cosmos…whatever she wants, I can be."

Jeremy tried to swallow, but his mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton and refused to cooperate. His voice cracked a little when he answered, but again, it didn't shake. "Who wants to get everything they wish for?"

The goblin king stopped short. "What?"

"No one actually wants all of their dreams to come true in one fell swoop. What do you do then? Where do you go from there? All that's left is to sit around and wait for everything to leave you." Jeremy crossed his arms. "Sarah's no exception. She doesn't want you as a lover, Goblin King. She wants – she _needs_ – you as an adversary."

It seemed to Jeremy that the whole hall darkened a few shades, and that the temperature plummeted. "Explain," the Goblin King demanded, in tones that were heavy with frost.

"People like Sarah always need a challenge. If she'd conquered you, if you'd disappeared into the farthest corners of her imagination, never to be seen or heard from again, she'd have had to find another enemy. Or make herself one. Because if she doesn't have someone to rival, someone to challenge, someone to beat, she will always beat herself. She becomes her own worst enemy."

The Goblin King's voice was low and dangerous, and he looked at Jeremy as if Jeremy were a cockroach who had suddenly started tap-dancing. "What are you saying?"

"Sarah needs you." Jeremy took a deep breath, and before his nerve could fail him, added, "But you'll never have her."

The hall seemed, if it were possible, to become more silent until the hush was almost a noise, a ringing like the interior of a church. Jeremy held his breath, wondering what the Goblin King would do to him for this. It wouldn't be another petty humiliation, he was sure. Even marrying Sarah hadn't been quite such an open act of defiance, as coming right out and saying what he'd only ever implied.

The look in the Goblin King's eyes was nothing less than murder. "No?" he asked, and that single syllable was more laden with menace and hate than any villain's soliloquy.

Jeremy could feel his courage slipping slowly out from under him, and he quailed back under the force of that icy glare. The hall was slowly filling with whispers, angry and vengeful and growing in volume, their reedy voices just on the verge of understanding. It felt as though he were shrinking, not in size but in importance, and he couldn't quite believe he'd dared to challenge someone so powerful, so great, so much _more_ than he could ever be. What was Jeremy? Nothing more than a reedy little editor, someone who took other people's grand and magical ideas and cut them up into dry little pieces, someone whose little dull grey resolve could never hold up in the face of true magic, true power. Someone whose little dull grey world could never hold a fey being like _her_. How could he have even dreamed that she'd choose him? How could he have ever deluded himself into believing she loved him?

"No," Jeremy whispered, and then shouted. "No!"

"What did you say?" The words were like a whip. Jeremy took a stumbling step backward, but stayed standing.

"I said no!" he yelled, trying to drown out the storm of whispers. "She defeated you. She left you! She chose real life over your pretty dreams. She married me. She chose _me._ " Unnoticed by him, a smile began to steal across Jeremy's face at the thought of Sarah, of the wild and willful and wondering and wonderful woman he still couldn't quite believe loved him back. "And you have no power over us anymore."


	18. Chapter 18

The Dark Princess, alone on the roof, spinning and laughing madly, tossing handfuls of torn drawings out into the grey Brighton air.

_Jeremy hadn't said a word about what had happened to him when he stumbled out of the crowd and nearly collided with the buffet. But he hadn't needed to. Sarah had taken one look at the dumbfounded expression on his face, the sparkle in his eyes, and the glitter on his shoulders, and knew exactly what had occurred._

" _I see you've met my would-be boyfriend."_

In the end, he hadn't been able to stop her. Stall for time, yes, but stop her? Not a chance. And even though he knew, deep down, that Helena had to fight this battle herself, he couldn't help but feel like a failure. What kind of father couldn't protect his own daughter?

_They'd walked home in silence, ignoring the occasional carload of costumed revelers on their way to another party. He didn't bring it up, and neither did she, but some kind of understanding seemed to pass between them. Nothing more needed to be said._

He'd spent too much time at the hospital, worried that Sarah would be frightened of going into surgery alone, and now he'd arrived home too late. He'd known as soon as he walked through the door. There was something in the air, some indefinable quality missing. The whole world seemed slightly staler and slightly greyer.

He'd taken the stairs three at a time, only pausing to glance into Helena's room to confirm his suspicions. The last few blocks of the city were, as he'd feared, gone. Her walls were drab and featureless.

Apart from a framed drawing of a circle, which displayed in its depths a face. It wasn't smirking now.

_That night, before they went to bed, Sarah'd handed him a little red book. She didn't explain anything. She didn't really need to. The gold-embossed title said it all._

Where would she be? Where would she go to hide from him? He knew the answer as soon as he asked the question. On the roof. This anti-Helena was more like his daughter than perhaps she realized, and Helena was always on the roof when she needed to get away. Up there in the open air, where she felt freer, scribbling away on the concrete with a piece of coloured chalk –

Jeremy froze in place as the idea slammed into him.

He didn't know how long he had. He just ran, flat-out, up the stairs to the roof access door. He was winded by the time he got to the top – he really needed to get out and exercise more; since the circus had gone under he'd really gotten out of shape – but between gasps, he saw that the door was open. Just beyond it, spinning and laughing like someone who'd truly lost touch with reality, was the girl who was so much like his daughter.

He nearly bolted out after her, but something stopped him, some Sarah-voice whispering in the back of his mind. No. Helena had to do this by herself. She had to win, had to know that she _could_ win. That they had no power over her. That wouldn't happen if he charged in to rescue her. It was time to let his daughter stand on her own two feet.

But that didn't mean he couldn't give her a helping hand.

The anti-Helena finally stopped spinning, her laughter winding down. She started towards the roof access door.

And Jeremy shut it in her face.

* * *

He wasn't sure what was happening outside. There were sounds, unearthly screeches of rage, and then everything went quiet. He still didn't dare open the door, though, and so he stood awkwardly in the hall, wondering when it would be safe to come out.

When he finally opened the door again, his daughter was lying in the middle of the roof. He knew in an instant, without a doubt, that it was Helena, _his_ Helena. And that everything was going to be all right.

* * *

_They only spoke about it once. Jeremy asked if the goblins had been responsible for their disastrous courtship, and Sarah had laughed and answered, "Of course!" He'd asked, then, if she ever missed it. Ever missed having magic in her life._

_She'd just kissed him, long enough to take his breath away. And when she pulled back, she'd answered, "That's magic enough for me."_


End file.
